


Retribution

by Apollos_Emissary



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Angst, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 00:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14484999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apollos_Emissary/pseuds/Apollos_Emissary
Summary: Guardians are forbidden from investigating their pasts. Perhaps to avert distraction, perhaps because what they may find might break them.





	Retribution

Snow crunches underfoot; the only break in the mute landscape. The trees whisper in the breeze, as if anticipating the coming storm.

 A young Hunter strides through the tall pines, silent as the air around. He wears no helmet, heaves no rifle, none but the silvered edge of his blade glinting in the weak winter sun. The bitter wind bites across his bare skin but he welcomes it. He feels the sting of cold against his ashen gaze yet its hostility only fuels his sullen motive.

His cloak ripples and a parchment is wrenched loose, on it are details, numbers, coordinates. One set stands out, a mark of anger sliced through its heart. 

_~~Skoris the Treacherous, Devil Baron~~ _

A ridge presents itself before him but he shows no sign of slowing. His destination grows nearer as the dark trees thin. His boot strikes stone, and his march is halted at the drop’s edge. Ahead, the mountainside is cleft, the land leading down left jagged and rough. But just at its lowest, the ground grows smooth and a maroon banner beckons above the dark maw of a cave.

His Ghost rises to his shoulder and casts a glance at its Guardian. A look of worry, a check for presence. But he is not there, his hardened gaze absent of concurrency. The Hunter is elsewhere, a place dark and distant. A familiar voice cries out to him.

_Run!_

A throaty roar in his mind’s eye and a splash of red on midnight frost. 

_Kalek! Run!_

He returns to the present, his knuckles pale white against the formed hilt. His icy gaze cuts into the gathering scavengers below. He shifts his weight forward, and lets himself fall. Skipping down, down, rock to rock, ledge to basin. He lands with a muted thud and stands before them in silence. A Dreg screeches a feeble challenge and its call gurgles and ends. Ether spews from its throat as the Hunter lets loose his fury.

Bolts of blue whiz past him, but his step is quick, and his blade merciless. 

Five fall.  _Meyan._

Six more, their cries thin and vaporous.  _Tascha._

His blade rips through flesh, steamy Ether spatters across his cheek.  _Father._

Light courses through him, fueled by the rage of fresh anguish. The final body falls limp and a thunderous bellow fills his ears. Wild grey eyes meets vicious blue, and at the cave mouth, Devil Baron stands tall with swords bared towards the Light-Bearer. House banner draped over its shoulder and three hollow skulls adorn its collar. Scornful trophies of a century-old slaughter.

He grits his teeth, and with a crack of lightning, he lashes out. The clash of blades cut through the cold air, now sharp with the tang of ozone. Strike after strike, wound for wound. Chest leaks Ether, arms seep blood. His foe takes a deadly lunge, but with a snap of arc, the Baron stumbles and death follows; gas spraying from its laceration.

The Hunter’s trance flees; he drops his knife and collapses into the snow. His wounds burn and the icy cold claws at his hands and knees but he hardly notices. Misery chokes him, twisting his gut and gouging his mind. Screwing his eyes shut, he lets out an agonizing cry into the desolate land. It echoes through the trees, for a wolf without a pack is a most tortured soul.


End file.
